Read All About It
by Nikki-9-Doors
Summary: You can always find it in the paper, what's happened after you left. The truth is, even though you left the BAU all those years ago - you never really left them at all. Elle's POV.
1. Chapter 1

_~~~ Not a big fan of Elle, but we'll see how this goes. Enjoy! ~~~_

* * *

**Everything you read in newspapers is absolutely true, except for that rare story of which you happen to have first-hand knowledge. ~ Erwin Knoll**

Sometimes, they're hard to find. You'll have to flip all the way through, look for the smallest, most inconspicious article. Other times, if it's a bigger story, your eye zooms to it immediatley.

When you joined the BAU, you knew the job would be addicting. Everyone told you so. You can't leave it. Or, maybe, it can't leave you.

Either way.

You never expected to be scrutinizing newspapers, cutting out the articles that have to do with what was once your entire life, and preserving those articles in a tin can which was, at one point in time, filled with chocolate. Like some type of sick memory box.

When you open the lid, you can still catch a whiff of the chocolate.

And then, you'll catch a glimpse of the articles.

~~~***~~~

_FBI AGENT STEPS DOWN FROM ELITE TEAM_

It's about you. And it still stings, sometimes. It can still get you to reach for that bottle of wine. It can still make you remember those last words you said to Hotch - "When I first joined the team, I couldn't figure out why you never ever smile. Now, I'm going to miss that." It still makes you feel angry as hell at that monster who shot you. It still makes you question yourself: how can you not feel guilty? How can you not feel - ?

Because you don't feel guilty. Come face to face with that choice once more, you'd shoot him again.

That scares you. What'd that job do to you? What'd that monster who shot you do to you? Couple of years ago, you'd never have shot a person. Carrying a gun was a requirment for your job, but you swore to yourself you'd never use it.

Until you did.

_October 26/06 -- Supervisory Special Agent Greenaway stepped down from her position in the BAU yesterday, reasons unknown_

_The BAU (Bureau Analysis Unit) is responsible for profiling and then tracking down serial killers. SSA Greenaway came under scrutiny a month back when she shot and killed a suspect in a BAU case. This was later determined to be in self-defence. _

_The BAU says the are not looking for a replacement at this time._

There's not even a picture of you.

It's short and sweet.

It's all you deserve.

You wonder, sometimes, if your former coworkers are curious about what you've done with your life. None of them have ever called you, or emailed you. You thought they were your friends, too, but you guess not. Do they think your a murderer? Is that all they consider you as? Do they even mention you to one another anymore?

You still live in DC, but not in the same house - you couldn't live there after being shot, and anyway, you couldn't afford it without a steady income. You live in an apartment now. It's small. If someone were in your house, you'd know right away. So, maybe you're a little bit paranoid now.

You're also a little bit addicted.

To the BAU.

To your former team.

In the end, you just couldn't leave them.


	2. Chapter 2

You found the next article maybe three weeks after the one about your departure.

_NEW AGENT JOINS BAU_

There was a picture, too.

_Wow,_ you can remember thinking, _She's pretty._

Emily Prentiss. Daughter to an ambassador. You snorted to yourself when you read that part. Wondered if - then deciding that - Miss Emily Prentiss had gotten some strings pulled for her. You wanted to be part of the BAU for so long. You did everything you could. It took you more than a year to get yourself onto the team. This woman managed to pull it off in less than a month.

Harsh.

They must have been scrambling to fill the gap you left.

Or maybe you're just flattering yourself.

The article is long. Much longer than the one about you. As you sit at your kitchen table, holding it in your hands and rereading the words for the umpteenth time, you sigh. Wonder, not for the first time, if she's better at the job than you are. If she gets along with everyone. Has girl nights with Garcia and JJ like you used to. Does she tease Reid? Flirt with Morgan?

You wonder if she's shot anyone yet.

Been shot at.

The article mentions she's been working for the FBI for close to ten years. Is fluent in four languages. They even have a quote from Strauss - _"Agent Prentiss will be an extreme asset to this team."_

You can't remember ever being referred to as an "extreme asset" to the team.

You wonder what the article about _you _joining the BAU said.

You don't know.

You weren't looking for articles then.

~~~***~~~

You put Agent Prentiss's article down and pick up the next one.

_FBI AGENT SUSPECTED OF HOMICIDE - CLEARED!_

_December 15/06 -- Supervisory Special Agent Morgan of the BAU was dropped from the suspect list yesterday evening._

_SSA Morgan was suspected in the murder of four Chicago boys, including that of Damien Walters, found dead just three days ago. _

_In place of SSA Morgan, Carl Buford, a local Chicago man, has been charged with homicide and child molestation. _

_Says Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, "We never once believed SSA Morgan was guilty. I have nothing more to say."_

Like the first time you read the article, Hotch's comment gets to you.

_We never once believed SSA Morgan was guilty._

But you know Hotch considers you guilty.

To him you're a murderer. A criminal.

Your glad Morgan didn't do it. That would have been too much. Morgan, killing children? No way. Out of all of them on the team, you were probably closest with Morgan. Yet you haven't spoken to him, either, since you left. Maybe you should try too. Try to contact him. Or even Reid. Garcia, you know, would welcome you with arms wide open.

But you can't make yourself do it.

You look at the three articles spread out in front of you. It hasn't even been a year yet since you've gone, and so much has happened. Did this much happen while you were there? Maybe the BAU is falling apart without you.

You snort. Yeah right.

And you wait for the next paper.


	3. Chapter 3

_~~~ Thank you for reading and adding to alerts! And thanks for the reviews :) ~~~_

* * *

Your heart stops.

It's in big print. It's near the top of the page. It's a large article.

It's about Reid.

~~~***~~~

You haven't found an article about them for around two months now.

There have been articles about killers being caught - sometimes, the BAU has been mentioned. But no articles have centered around your former coworkers. Not since Morgan's drama. And now this. Now Reid.

_Oh god,_ you think,_ why Reid?_

You've always had a soft spot for Reid.

_FBI AGENT KIDNAPPED, TORTURED, AND DRUGGED - SHOOTS CAPTOR_

The headline makes you sick.

You almost don't want to read it. You don't want to think of Reid like that. In danger. In pain. Driven to kill. Just like you were.

You'd much rather remember Reid as the quiet, capable, incredibly brilliant and hillariously out-of-it geek who, once upon a time, managed to convince a delirious man not to kill you - and then gleefully gloated that it was caught on tape. Who, not long after that, made out with a television star in a pool. And who, a little while later, drank with you in your hotel room right before you killed a man.

Who is Reid now?

Now that he's been hurt by a monster, just like you were?

How is he dealing?

What is he addicted to?

~~~***~~~

_February 12/07 -- Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Reid (pictured left) who was abducted by Tobias Henkel has now safely returned home._

_Henkel was a physcopathic serial killer suffering from multi-personality disorder and responsible for the murders of six people in Atlanta, Georgia. He would then post videos of the murders online. _

_Dr. Reid is an FBI agent for the BAU. He is a twenty-five year old genius and has been working with the BAU for about two years. He was abducted last Wednesday after being seperated from FBI media liaison Jennifer Jareau. He was held captive for three days in a cabin, drugged with dilaudid, threatened to be shot, and at one point, made to choose who would be saved and who would ultimately be left to die. Dr. Reid also came close to death after having a seizure, however he was revived with CPR by Henkel shortly thereafter._

_The BAU team worked frantically to save their youngest member, but ultimately it was Dr. Reid himself who managed to give them the clues to track him down. It was only as his fellow agents rushed to save him that Dr. Reid, forced to dig his own grave, managed to wrestle Henkel's gun from him and then shoot the killer._

_"We are glad to have Dr. Reid safely returned to us." comments SSA Gideon._

_Dr. Reid will not be taking any time off from the BAU to get over this trauma. _

_"He is a strong young man and he will no doubt recover and carry on with his life as he always did before." says Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. He adds, "No one on the BAU team is at fault for Agent Reid's abduction."_

Translation: it isn't JJ's fault he was kidnapped.

And it isn't Reid's either.

There's no one to blame but Henkel.

Just like it wasn't Hotch's fault you got shot.

You know that, you always have, but sometimes, you forget.

It's then that the idea comes to you.

What if you contacted Reid? Called him?

You know what he must be going through. Feeling like. It's a feeling no one else on the BAU team could possibly help him make sense of.

When you returned after being shot, you didn't want anyone to reach out and try to understand what you had been through.

But everyone tried anyway.

Including Reid.

~~~***~~~

You know getting a day off from the BAU is one in a million.

Which is why you're honoured Reid decided to use one of his meeting with you.

"Elle, good to see you." Reid says as he sits down across from you, resting a large coffee on the table before him. There are purple circles under his eyes from no sleep, and he's even skinnier than before, if that's possible.

It's been two weeks since you read about him in the paper.

"Reid," you say, "I heard. I know."

Reid swallows, looks around. "That's why -" he stops, starts again, "That's why I wanted to meet with you I was hoping - hoping you didn't know..."

He reaches out for his coffee and his sleeve rides up. Hastily he pulls it back down again, but not before you see the marks.

"Reid -" you begin.

"I'm fine!" he barks. You flinch. You can't remember ever encountering an angry Reid.

"Sorry," he mutters.

You sit in silence for a while before he asks what you're doing now. Shamefully, you say that you're still looking for someplace new to work. The fact that you've gone from FBI to living off of your savings isn't really something that you're proud of.

"You could probably -"

"I know," you say before he finishes. You know you could probably be part of the FBI again, or at least be a cop, but you don't want to. You're done with that world. The problem is, you don't know what new world you now hope to be a part of.

"I just wanted to say, Reid...I mean, I was almost killed too and...I killed a man too..."

"It's different what I did than what you did. I killed in self-defence." he hisses. He's so much more irritable now. You don't like it. And his words sting. They're like Hotch's words. Accusations. But you still don't think, nor do you feel like, you're guilty.

"I know." you say again. You'd never accuse Reid of killing someone because he wanted to.

Reid nods, looks around. Then: "Thanks, Elle. We...we do miss you, you know."

You smile. It almost makes you feel better. You just don't believe him, that's the problem.

"What the new girl like?" you inquire.

"New girl?" Reid asks back. Then his cell phone begins to buzz. When he looks at it, he sort of smirks. "Hotch."

As he flips it open he says, "Hotch? No, no I'm -"

He looks over at you, and you shake your head vehemently.

"- not doing anything," he finishes. He mouthes goodbye as he leaves to join the team to get on the jet to catch a killer.

That used to be your life, too.


	4. Chapter 4

_~~~ My Christmas gift to all of you! A new chapter!_

_Thanks sosososososo much for all of your awesome reviews, and for adding me to alerts and favourites and for just reading. That's more than I ever could have imagined for this story (especially since I suck at updating. Really sorry about that). _

_Hope you enjoy! :) ~~~_

* * *

You know you'll never forget the date.

Carefully you cut around the article, lift the lid on the tin box, gently pull out your other articles and slide this newest addition underneath them. Then, inhaling the chocolaty scent, you place all the articles back in the box, then slide the box back on top of your fridge.

You can't help but imagine two profilers turning to one another and going, "And where were _you_ when you heard...?" Because this is big.

Jason Gideon.

The best of the best.

Running away.

~~~***~~~

_BAU'S FINEST IN THE WIND_

_October 10/07 -- Supervisory Special Agent Gideon has officially resigned from the FBI._

_SSA Gideon has worked for the BAU (Bureau Analysis Unit) for nearly thirty-five years. Three years ago, he took a six-month leave from the BAU after sending six agents into a warehouse containing a bomb. All six were killed in the event._

_SSA Gideon aided in the capture of more than one hundred serial killers during his career. The cause for his departure is not known, however some speculate that it has to do with Frank Breitkopf, a serial killer who murdered over 200 people before committing suicide last month. Prior to his death, Breitkopf killed a woman close to SSA Gideon (how he knew the woman has not been released to the public). SSA Gideon is also responsible for introducing SSA Dr. Reid to the BAU. We were not able to reach SSA Dr. Reid for a comment. _

_What SSA Gideon plans to do in his retirement is unknown, however it has been suggested that he may pen a few novels about his career, as has been done by other former profilers._

_A replacement for SSA Gideon is said to be in the works._

You shake as you read it. And you can't stop shaking once you've finished. Gideon, leaving? You never even considered that before. You thought he'd just stay stuck on the job. Forever. Somehow, you thought you were weak, leaving the BAU like you did.

But Gideon left too.

He ran away, just like you did.

(Well, minus the murder of a rapist.)

Gideon, weak?

That doesn't make sense.

So you grab your cell phone and scroll wildly through the contact list. Perhaps you should have deleted their numbers from your phone, but you didn't, and you haven't. You like to lie in bed sometimes, reading over their numbers, wishing you had the courage to call them - and never quite working it up. All the same, the knowledge that you could if you wanted to comforts you.

Finally you find the number you're looking for. Not Gideon's - you wouldn't want to bombard him with questions, nor deal with him talking to you as though you're nothing more than a common criminal - but Hotch's.

You wait, heart thumping, and then -

_The number that you have called is no longer in service. Please try again._

You stare at your phone in horror. How could it do that to you? How? So you try again.

And get the same result.

Then, because you're desperate, you dial his home number. You don't even remember why you have it. Maybe Hailey gave it to you one time - you always liked her.

It's Hailey who answers.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Hailey. I don't know if you remember me - Elle Greenaway? I used to work with Hotch..."

You hear her swallow. Tightly.

"Aaron doesn't live here anymore."

"Wha - I'm sorry, do I have the wrong number or - ?"

You aren't getting it. But then it hits you, right as Hailey says, "I'm sorry, Elle. I have to go."

They split up. Divorced.

Next thing you know you're crying.

You knew Hotch and Hailey had problems, sometimes, because of the job. But they were so in love. Hotch was always in a better mood when Hailey was around. She made him so happy.

Seems to you that the BAU, the one job you coveted most in the world -

Seems to you that all it does is ruin lives.


	5. Chapter 5

_~~~ So grateful to you guys! Enjoyyy! ~~~_

* * *

Mostly the article is just about how amazing he is, how he was a "founding father" of the BAU. How he has all these bestsellers, and how now, he'll be returning. It's of little interest to you, really, but this man is Gideon's replacement. Plus, you'd be lying if you said you didn't recognize the name, didn't stack his books on your shelf, having read them all at least twice. That was back when the BAU was what you lived for. You haven't changed anything since then, nothing. You probably should have burned those books, moved out of town, added more locks to your door, or less - but you haven't. Everything's stayed the same.

You go to your bathroom now and stare into the mirror. Your hair is long again, the ends split and dead, the roots showing - your realize with a knot of horror in your stomach - a bit of _grey_. Your cheeks are hollowed, there are purple half-circles under your eyes, your skin has more lines and wrinkles in it than you remember. And your eyes. They look - dead. Hopeless. When did this happen to you? Why have you let this happen to you?

You return to the kitchen, fetch the chocolate box once more, and toss all the newspaper clippings onto the ground. You force yourself to grab a box of matches, force yourself to snatch one of the articles off the floor, and even as you scream at yourself not to, you force yourself to light a match an hold it to the paper.

_If you want to start over,_ you tell yourself, calmly,_ You must burn this article, and all the rest. And move on, and forget._

You bring the flame closer, but then you notice what article it is.

The one about Reid.

And you remember that day when the two of you met up, and you remember those needle pricks on his arms, and concern washes over you. Is he better now? Has the team helped him through his addiction?

Who are you kidding? You can't move on. You can't forget.

You blow out the flame, scoop up the clippings, and deposit them back in the chocolate tin. You realize, sadly, that it's so quiet. When was the last time you spoke to anyone? When was the last time you said anything out loud?

You try your voice: "Hello,"

It still works.

~~~***~~~

_MURDEROUS DEPUTY SHOT IN FBI HEADQUARTERS!_

_November 30/07 -- Quantico, Virginia. Deputy Sheriff Jason Clark Battle was shot and killed in FBI Headquarters by FBI media liaison SSA Jennifer Jareua while holding Agent Adam Fuchs hostage with a gun. Battle had previously killed three people, and shot two, including FBI Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia._

_Garcia was shot outside her home on November 17th. She works with the BAU, as does SSA Jareau. Following her shooting, Garcia was the centre of an investigation after an encrypted file was found on her computer. Explains Garcia, "It was just private, personal information on the BAU team. I didn't want that to get out again, and someone to get hurt again." (Garcia is referencing the shooting of SSA Elle Greenaway in her own home. The agent has since resigned from the BAU.) The investigation against Garcia has now been dropped._

_On the news that Battle killed three people, a coworker says, "Something was always off about that guy."_

The newpaper is good at adding drama to things. Of course it's the title, in shocking bold letters, which first catches your attention. From there, articles typically simmer down, but this one just keeps suprising you.

JJ shot and killed someone?!

Garcia was shot?!

There was an investigation launched against Garcia?!

Garcia blames her computer being hacked for your being shot?!

People remember you?!

You cut out the article, heart beating hard, head spinning. You try not to notice the bills piling up on your kitchen counter. You try not to remember that, soon, you may have to apply for welfare cheques - and may actually _qualify_. How long have you been out of work, now? Has it been an entire year?

Did you start a trend? First, you shot the rapist. Then, Reid shot his captor. Now, JJ's shot Garcia's tormentor. And they all died. Every man shot - he died. Did you start that trend, that trend of shooting? Did you open the eyes of your team, give them a whole new option of defense they knew about, but never considered? Or were you just the first one to break? Do they think of you differently, now? Does Reid understand, does Garcia understand, now that they've been hurt like you were hurt? Do they understand why you did it?

Do they forgive you?

Do you forgive yourself?

With a tremble, you slide the chocolate box off the top of the fridge and slip the new article in with the others. Maybe if you hadn't shot that wretched, wretched man, you wouldn't be in this situation. But then again, maybe if you hadn't shot him, he'd go on to rape more women, and ruin more lives, before he was imprisoned - if he was ever imprisoned.

Did you pay the price for the lives of other women, other would-be victims? After all, it's not like your life was ever going to be the same again, so perhaps it was for the best that it was your life altered forever, so that there's wasn't.

Still, maybe pulling the gun wasn't the best move.

You shiver. It's cold, but you can't afford to turn the heat up any higher.

As you go into your room to pull on another sweater, you realize for the first time that you may just be regretting your decision to shoot that rapist.


	6. Chapter 6

_~~~ Wrapping up chapters here, but still got a few left. If you have any particular wish for Elle and the new life I'm about to release her into, let me know and I'll consider it! Thanks again for reading, reviewing, subscribing, and favouriting! ~~~_

* * *

A whole year has gone by.

One entire year - almost.

November 2007 was the last time you cut out an article, and now it's September of 2008.

Some might mistake you as breaking the habit.

But they would be wrong.

You are a woman driven by your addiction. Every morning, you scour the paper. And sometimes you'll find stories of murder, rape, and abduction, and sometimes there will be the most minute mention of the BAU. But not enough to be worth a spot in the old chocolate tin. In your sick, twisted memory box of sorts. The need for the newspaper is the only thing that's stayed the same. You've now moved to a new apartment, cheaper and smaller than the one before. You buy your clothes at second-hand stores. You use coupons to purchase the simplest of things. Sometimes you skip meals, if you can't afford them. The welfare cheques come every month in the mail. You can't reach out to your parents. You can't reach out to anyone.

It's too embarrassing.

The only luxury you allow yourself is a newspaper a day.

And now:

_NY KILLERS GO OUT WITH A BANG_

_September 25/08 -- Last night an ambulance exploded in the middle of New York City's Central Park. The man driving the ambulance was one SSA Derek Morgan, part of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit, racing against the ticking countdown of a bomb to ensure the safety of NYC citizens. Earlier that night, Agent Kate Joyner was killed in a car bomb while BAU Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner suffered sever damage to his ear._

_The people responsible for the bombs were a group of home-grown terrorists, also responsible for the numerous murders of New York civilians these past weeks. All the murders were conducted during daylight hours in public areas._

_Says a spokesman for the FBI, "We are incredibly sad to lose Agent Joyner, but applaud the BAU for its marvelous group effort."_

You cut it out. Re-read it. Slip it into the tin.

_Who was Kate?_ You wonder,_ Who was she?_

_Did she deserve to die?_

_How could those terrorists kill her? Do they feel guilty?_

You feel guilty. Not for Kate's death but for that rapist's.

You can't even remember his name anymore.

How could you do such a thing?

You wanted to destroy him, but in doing so, you destroyed yourself.

~~~***~~~

There is a small article, with a small picture.

You recognize the woman in the picture. She stands on a podeum, surrounded by microphones and cameras, her mouth open mid-sentence, her hair pulled up in a tight ponytail.

It is JJ, and although you have become accustomed to the newspaper bringing you sad stories of your old comrades, this one is joyous.

_BABY BOY FOR FBI LIAISON_

You can't imagine why it's made the paper, but you're glad it has.

_November 13/08 -- Media liaison for the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit, SSA Jennifer Jareau gave birth to a son, Henry LaMontagne, yesterday. _

_Father is New Orleans detective, William LaMontagne Jr. SSA Dr. Spencer Reid and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia have been named as the baby's godparents._

_With connections like that, Henry LaMontagne is sure to be part of the FBI someday._

_All the best to Agent Jareau and her new family!_

Something in the article captures your attention.

William. William LaMontagne. Why is that name familiar?

Your stomach drops and you realize it isn't. Not really. But it's the first name, William. That was the name of the man you killed. He wanted a family, too. He wanted a baby like JJ has now. He just went by it in the worst way imaginable.

You run to the bathroom and vomit.

Afterwards, you're filled with a most inexplicable urge to contact JJ and wish her congratulations.

_And say what?_ You mock yourself,_ I just read about it in the paper? Like you don't purposely look for her, and all the others?_

You wonder who the New Orleans cop is. If she loves him. You hope so.

Reid and Garcia. Godparents.

If you had stuck with the BAU, would you have been made a godparent?

You shrug the thought away. So JJ's a bit more generous, a bit closer, with her BAU coworkers. Hotch didn't name any of you Jack's godparents. Not even Gideon.

_Did that hurt Gideon?_ You wonder.

What hurt Gideon?

What made Gideon run?

That final murder, that final murder where someone he loved was killed?

You were almost killed. YOU were almost killed.

You run out of your apartment, not even stopping to throw on a coat even though it's getting chillier now. You're not all too sure where you're going. You just remember the time you almost died, when you had that dream where you talked to your dad - although you swear, you swear it was more than a dream. He called you "peanut" like he did when he was alive. Said it was your decision, whether you lived or died. If that's true, then you chose. You chose to live.

You chose to kill.

You chose to resign from the FBI.

You chose to start a memory box full of newspaper clippings.

You chose to meet up with Reid, so long ago.

But can you choose to start your life over, a better, healthier life?

Can you do that?


	7. Chapter 7

_~~~ Thanks an incredible amount to all readers! Enjoyyy! ~~~_

* * *

You are frozen.

And then you are boiling.

Soon you begin to shake.

~~~***~~~

It is September once again, the leaves on the trees beginning to brown, the hot summer air simmering down to crisp autumn temperatures. After JJ's baby article, you failed to find anything more beyond that of the tiniest mention.

Nights have been endless. There is no sleep. There is no reprive. There is tossing and turning. There is wondering and regretting.

Then there is a small part of you that revolts against the rest. It is the fighter part of you, the wild part of you, which screams out, _Stop that! You did what you knew was right!_

There's still a little part of you that refuses to accept the fact that killing that rapist was a mistake.

Only you don't think of him as "that rapist" anymore. You think of him as William Lee. Human being.

~~~***~~~

You had a friend for a while.

A person who before you would have looked down at.

She was your _friend_.

She stole, she smoked, she sold sex.

She was just twenty-three.

That's younger than you.

That's younger than Reid.

You'd been talking to her since last November. You told her she could live with you, if she wanted, even though your apartment is small. You tried to get her on welfare but she refused. You tried to clean her up a bit but she refused that, too. Anyway, it's not like you could help her much. Your life is hardly any better. So she stayed with you over the winter, but moved out once May came. She said she didn't feel right sleeping in a place she wasn't paying money for. And she went back out on the street, once it was warm enough.

She called herself _Espoire_, which means "hope" in French, a language she did not speak but hoped to someday. She never told you her last name, or her actual first name.

Today you walked out of your apartment, and down to the back alley where she set up her house. You were going to ask her if she was moving back in, now that winter was coming around again, but she was not there.

You found her around the corner, in an alley worse off than the one before - dead.

A drug overdose.

She was only twenty-three.

~~~***~~~

_FBI AGENT STABBED MULTIPLE TIMES - WORK OF REAPER_

_September 24/09 -- BAU Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner, whose team worked in Boston in an attempt to catch the infamous "Reaper" back in the spring, was stabbed numerous times in his home two nights ago and then admitted to the ER. _

_The team succeeded in catching the Reaper (real name George Foyet, who stabbed himself to look like a victim back in 1998) however he then escaped from his prison cell. Police later found blueprints to all jails within the Boston area in his home. _

_It has been confirmed by SSA Hotchner that the Reaper was the one who stabbed him and then deposited him outside of the ER. The reason for this is unknown to the press at this time. _

_SSA Hotchner is now in recovery._

Once you have calmed down, and stopped shaking, you pick up the rusty metal scissors which hurt your hand to hold, and begin to cut.

You don't expect to start shaking again, but you do, and you slice right through the article.

You stare down in shock, blink a couple of times, then get up from the table and grab what small change you have, shoving it into your pocket before pulling the door closed behind you and locking it.

You're going to have to find a new newspaper, now.

~~~***~~~

Outside, the wind blows your hair into your face. It's unusually windy today, and the same gust snatches your paper from your fingers.

It seems as though you don't have very good luck, today.

The paper blows down the street and then upwards, and you chase after it. The paper blows further away from you, still, and would probably go far, far away if it weren't for a man who suddenly steps out from around the corner, and the newspaper blows against him, and can't go any further.

Still, you chase after it, and when it land on him you say, "Oh, sorry -"

And seeing a woman chasing after the paper he says, "Whoa there, pretty lady -" and as he reaches down to snatch the paper off his chest, your eyes meet.

You are suddenly very aware of how your lips are chapped, how you have no makeup covering those lines by your eyes, how your hair is long and dead and not washed with real, quality shampoo. You are aware that your jeans are faded and worn, you are aware that your always-thin frame has grown almost sickly skinny now. You are aware that you look like an out-of-work, close-to-homeless, out-of-hope woman.

And you are _certainly_ aware that standing across from you, your paper in his hands, is none other than the man you have been reading about for the past three years.

SSA Derek Morgan.

And before he can ask any questions you say, quietly, "Morgan, I need your help with a body."

You would have laughed at his expression - a sort of, "Oh crap, don't tell me she's been off_ killing_people," - if it weren't Espoire's body you needed help with.

He replies: "I'm here for you, Elle. Anything you need."

It feels like you've been trapped under water, drowning for so long, and you've finally gotten a breath of air.

* * *

_~~~ Excited? I hope so! :D I've given Elle a very sad ride in this fic, and I am planning on ending it with a bit of _espoire_- horribly cheesy, I know. And thank you to OkieDokie98 for telling me the real year the Reaper stabbed himself! Review, subscribe, favourite (but only if it suits you to do so, of course)! Concluding chapter to be up shortly.~~~_


	8. Chapter 8

_~~~ Ook do you guys remember that episode where a whole bunch of kids had been killed in a fire, and the UnSub was making it look as though their parents were committing suicide? In that episode, Morgan says, "...I install these in all my properties," and Prentiss goes, "Properties?" So, he obvioulsy has more than one home. Please remember that episode while reading this. If you haven't seen that episode, I'm pretty sure it's season 3 "A Higher Power". _

_Anyway, this is the final chapter, so I'd like to thank all of you who read, reviewed, favourited, and/or subscribed. Thanks so much! :) I hope this ending is to your liking. Enjoyyy! ~~~ _

* * *

It's a gorgeous little house right in Washington. Small and white-washed, it has a sort of honesty about it that you can't miss. The door is painted a magenta shade.

Outside snow covers the ground, covers the steps up to your house, covers the rooftops of the surrounding houses. Christmas will be in one week, you think to yourself merrily.

You've spent a lot of time sleeping, showering, and eating. You missed having money. You missed modern technology. Every night you fall asleep, soundly, in a queen-sized bed with a warm, feather-stuffed duvet and five cushy pillows. Sometimes you can't fall asleep because killing William Lee is picking at your mind again, but now you have sleeping pills and you use them. You've cut your hair short, to just under your ears; you didn't really _want _it short but there were too many split ends and it's easier to take care of when it's not long. You have your makeup again - your eyeliner, mascara, cover-up, and lipstick, and you forgot how much you liked that, too. You forgot how much you missed dolling yourself up.

You still read the paper, but for a different reason now. You like keeping up with current affairs. And you have a new dream - newspaper reporter. You take night classes to learn journalism. During the day, you work at a restaurant nearby as a waitress; it's not glamorous, but it's something.

Sometimes you pry open your chocolate tin full of newspaper clippings. It sits under your bed now, waiting for those nights, those truly sleepless nights when not even the sleeping pills seem to quell your busy mind. It tells a story, beginning with a resignation, and ending with a death - Hailey's death.

_WOMAN KILLED BY REAPER - REAPER KILLED BY MAN!_

_November 26/09 -- Hailey Hotchner (__née_ Brooks) was killed in her home on November 25th. She was in witness protection to keep her and her son, Jack, away from the "Reaper" who stabbed Jack's father and her ex-husband, SSA Aaron Hotchner, last month.

_Hailey, age forty-one, was shot shortly after the Reaper lured her into meeting him. Running into the house, SSA Hotchner proceeded to beat the Reaper numerous times. The Reaper, real name George Foyet, has been pronounced dead due to Agent Hotchner (no legal action will be taken at this time)._

_Their son was miraculously found unharmed. SSA Hotchner is set to take care of him._

_Funeral arrangements for Hailey are being made for next week. It will be a ceremony for family and friends only._

~~~***~~~

Three months ago, Morgan walked with you to Espoire's body. He called an ambulance, but she was dead, and there was nothing they could do except confirm cause of death - drug overdose, as you suspected. And then, even though you were dirty and probably smelly, he pulled you into a hug and said, "Oh, Elle Elle Elle. What have you done to yourself?"

He got Espoire a proper burial. Not a ceremony - no one would have come - but he paid to have her put in a cemetery with a headstone reading just the one word (her "name") and the date she died.

Then he got you a proper house. One of his own, although you never knew he owned more than one. He insisted he pay for everything you needed. He bought you knew clothes, paid for a trip to the salon, bought necessary toiletries, paid the water and electricity bills. He even found you the waitressing job - "They owe me a favour," he explained.

He went so far as to honour your plea, although after everything he'd already done for you it was probably too much to ask: "Don't tell the team you've found me."

You're paying for the night school on your own though, with your meagre waitressing earnings. You don't get welfare cheques anymore. You no longer qualify. One day, though, you'll pay Morgan back. One day.

Morgan did insist on one thing however, and could not be swayed no matter how much you begged otherwise. Counselling. Twice a week. You really didn't think it would help, but it has. It's the reason you can sleep soundly, now. It's the reason you could break Morgan from his promise not to tell. It's the reason you attended Hailey's funeral.

(The last time you spoke to her - that horrific time you were trying to find Hotch to ask about Gideon.)

It's the reason you have "Girl Power Nights" (so named by Garcia) with Garcia, JJ, and the one who replaced you - Emily. Who, as it turns out, isn't even all that bad. She's actually nice, now that she's gotten over her initial wariness (not that you ever blamed her for being wary). It's the reason you have "Dorky Movie Nights" (so named by yourself) with Reid, watching old ("classic!" he insists) sci-fi movies which are, apparently, incredibly accurate for their time. It's the reason you can look at Hotch and know why he doesn't smile often and miss the not knowing why, but just relish in the times when he does smile, because that means the moment is all that more special.

He smiled when you offered to babysit Jack while they're out on cases. And although it's Hailey's sister Jessica who usually looks after Jack, sometimes you'll join her. You really like her. It makes sense, considering you always liked Hailey.

You know you killed that rapist. The fact is, it's not as simple as murder or self-defense. He was a misguided, bad man who raped women. That being said, you had no right to decide it was his time to die. But he's dead now. You just have to move on.

You thought you'd have to burn your newspaper clippings to get back to normal. But it was never a case of burning clippings or memories or connections to the outside world. To get back to normal, all it took was a small thing - help. Not from an ex-coworker, but from a friend.

In the end, that's why you could never let them go.

Because they're you're friends.

**Sometimes you put up walls not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down. ~ Anonymous**


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